


Ghosts

by Xenomorphic



Series: Game Over [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble/Ficlet, Gen, Introspection, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenomorphic/pseuds/Xenomorphic
Summary: You have ghosts.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all, regarding Marvel Comics or the MCU; I just like them characters.

Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. You have ghosts.

And not the spooky kind, translucent and always knocking things off shelves. No, your ghosts are, were, will be, made of flesh and bone, they have voices of their own and a viciousness, oh, what a viciousness they have.

Sometimes you see them in your dreams and in the corners of your eyes, just out of reach, but sometimes you touch them with your fingertips, like when you bump into Peter Parker one day and you think about the ten million and two-hundred and seventy nine universes where he died, there on a barren Titan or in the lonely, black space or maybe a year later, and other times they stare back at you, like Morgan when Happy Hogan introduces you in Tony’s (_Tony_, _Tony_, always _Tony_, never _Stark_, not ever again) funeral and you see _him_, you see _his eyes_ and your hands twitch a bit more than usual, but nobody notices.

You pretend it’s a good thing you don’t have much contact with any of them, but all that does is help you forget who died on Vormir – was it Natasha, or Clint, or Gamora, or was it every single one of them or none? – or who’s Captain America – Steve, or Bucky, or Sam, or are Patriot and Miss the ones keeping the dream alive because everyone else died on them? – or just who the hell you’re in first name basis with and who you’re not, because you’re in one of those meetings to prevent the end of the world – again – and three or four different people give you a weird look because you called him _Bucky_, not _Barnes_, and as friendly as Sam is, his close companion – are they or are they not dating, you have no fucking clue anymore – isn’t as open and you remember, suddenly, how it had taken you _years_ to make the guy laugh with your admittedly obnoxious brand of humor. In one of the many universes that are, but are not this one you live in.

And the thing is, you miss them. You, Stephen Strange, human disaster and bridges burner extraordinaire, miss _them_. You miss Nat’s understanding and sad smiles, and Tony’s frankly _hot_ mess, and Steve’s steadiness and unwavering companionship, and Wanda’s child-like wonder when she learns magic, and Peter swinging by and his “that’s not scientifically possible”.

Wong looks a bit desperate and too worried, and Christine is so sympathetic, you decide to never tell anyone else about it. You don’t know if it was too high a price or not in the end, but you keep all your ghosts close to you, maybe too close.


End file.
